Pledge
by Inepto
Summary: The goal was simple, make Germany fall in love with Italy. So, when did things become much more complicated than that? Gerita/Spamano/USUK/Giripan
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_**A/N-**To be honest this story has been rotting in my brain for at least a month ever since I was first introduced to Hetalia, last month OTL. Anyway lame prologue of sorts, I wanted to start off in the present but well the story would be pretty well not understandable without a basic outlook on this current crisis. eue Hope this story isn't too lame OTL Oh! And this story holds hints and eventual explanation of the Germany = HRE theory, yes._

_**Disclaimer:** I do** not** own Hetalia and never will._

**_Warnings:_**_WWII Setting atm, Germany's defeat, implied mention of Hitler, The Allies, jumbled/confused Germany, typos(?)_

_**Main Pairings:**__ GerIta, Spamano, USUK, Later GiriPan_

_**Side pairings: **__PruCan, DenNor, SuFin, Rochu, and many others._

* * *

**Chapter 1:** **Prologue**

**The time was WWII.**

And the young German nation could not help but feel utterly defeated.

The Allies had successfully infiltrated his country. His people had lost and now Germany found himself with his back against the wall. He had nothing else to throw at them. He couldn't speak, his voice was gone. Hearing was impossible, his ears refused to listen, and his eyes, they had become hollow shells of defeat, completely blind to the world. His mind stubbornly refused the need to absorb the bloodied area and his reflexes, muscles, and brain refused to protect himself from the incoming advances from the Allies. But perhaps that was for the best. Germany knew that if he were to soak in the situation he would go mad. But that wasn't even close to how horrible the situation was, because at that very moment reality had finally hit him.

He, Ludwig Beilschmidt, had failed.

Eyes roamed over his pathetically defeated frame, he could feel it. The nauseating stares of those who had defeated him. They gazed down at him, all with a mixture of different emotions. Sniveling crooks that crawled across his battered frame, insidiously caressing his swollen wounds while whispering empty words of a light punishment. They were disgusting. Those horrid mix of emotions violently slapped him across his face.

_Hatred. _

_Disgust. _

_Fury. _

_Repulsion. _

_Anger. _

_Disdain. _

_**Pity. **_

Germany took in a shaky breath of air, his bloodied chapped lips trembling slightly. Outfit torn and ruined beyond repair, arms trembling in an unfamiliar tremor of self-disgust, he had to clench his shaking fists to prevent further self-injury. His bright blond hair was disheveled, matted in sweat and blood. The crimson substance coated his face, it was not his, but it might as well have been. Germany looked down, his sight finally accepting to corporate, mournfully taking in the bloodied corpse of his late boss. He felt his throat go dry and forced himself to look away.

Yes, the blood might as well have been his.

Germany tried his hardest to ignore the bubbling rage that was currently residing at the core of his being but it was proving itself to be a rather difficult task. Especially with those damn youthful sky blue eyes that were looking down on him. The normally overbearingly, obnoxiously, loud American was being uncharacteristically quiet, he didn't need his ears to know that, but those orbs spoke in volumes of what the boy could not even begin to properly word out.

_Justice. _

_Twisted_ insidiously preserved _justice._

Ludwig bit back a seething remark that was desperately trying to escape his raw throat.

_"You would have done the same had you been in my position!"_

But who was he fooling? He played right into their trap. Glorifying his country had been Germany's own downfall and now the gates of hell were waiting for him. He lost and now he had to pay the price. But, to be honest, he wasn't boiling in rage because of his loss or because of the sinister judgmental stares that were casted down upon him. His crumbling nation, his battered body, his actions during the war, his loss and much more did not even invoke a single chord of anger in him.

_Nein_, he wasn't mad at that, he could care less.

Cerulean blue orbs hardened into venomous steel shards as they took in the sight of the sobbing brunette.

That _verräter_.

That _verdammt arschloch_.

There were absolutely not enough words in the damn world to accurately describe the amount of utter disdain he currently felt swelling up inside of him for the whimpering nation.

_His lover_.

Or should he really refer to that traitorous Italienisch in such an endearing term? It didn't matter, Ludwig was too angry to think things through, or better yet he was too hurt.

_Betrayed._

Ja, that was what he felt.

Putting the general anger aside, Germany felt more betrayed than anything else. The man he had trusted, protected, and loved had betrayed him. But that was to be expected, right? The Italienisch was nothing but a coward, and of course the first damn opportunity to preserve his own worthless life he would take. Italien had done it on a number of occasions, but it was never in any serious battles, let alone serious wars.

And that thought actually _hurt._

His hearing finally came back, he could finally make out the heinous words that rolled out of foreign tongues, mostly insults from America, but in the background he could make out hushed whispered sobs. A mantra that dripped out of the Italienisch's lips like pouring water. A ribbon of tears rolled down the boy's cheeks, and his body shook with each heartbreaking cry.

"Forgive me Luddy, I _beg of you_, please forgive me! _Dio, che cosa ho fatto_? Luddy ti prego perdonami. Ti amo. Ti amo. _Ti amo._ Luddy prego, _perdonami_!"

_Liegt! _

Germany wanted so badly to shout. To shout, to scream, to cry, he wanted to do all those things at once. But at the same time he didn't. Ludwig was a pathetic mess; Gott, he still wanted to wrap his arms around the boy's smaller frame. He wanted to kiss the sobbing Italienisch, reassure him that everything would be alright and he would protect the boy from anything and everything that ever tried to harm him.

Gott, how pathetic was he?

Feliciano Vargas.

That name spoke in so many different tones.

To others, that was the name of one of the Italienisch cowards. A useless nation that only gets in the way. But there was more than meets the eye. So Much more. Aside from Feliciano being the personification of Italy, and the grandson of great Rome, he also spoke in whispers of soothing comfort. But those were all obvious facts that any random idiot could get with simple research.

_Nein_, Feliciano was much more than just the personification of Italy. He was _his_ Italienisch. The boy was special, always chipper and happy, trying his hardest not to let things let him down. Italien was moderately innocent, and rather naive. He's the kind of guy who you could not get mad at, one that you could simply not bully, and should you try to do so well he would smile innocently not understanding in return guilting you to apologize. That dumb grin was the boy's _greatest aspect_.

Ludwig faintly recalled the first moment he had first met the bubbly Italienisch. It had become a rather fond memory. He had been walking in the forest solemnly talking to his beloved faithful stick when out of nowhere he found a wooden crate labeled 'tomatoes' on the ground. He remembered thinking it was some kind of trap set out by his enemies, but to his pleasant surprise, not at that moment though, a strange chipper Italienisch claiming to be the 'tomato fairy' began sputtering absolute nonsense. Germany felt a ghost of a smile painting his damaged lips.

He had somehow befriended this strange nation. Learning a multitude of things as the years went by and eventually becoming more than just friends. Italien had become an important person to Germany, and vice versa. The Italienisch also had so many people who cared for him. A loving big brother, no matter how much Lovino denied it, a passionate overprotective big Spaniard brother, a french pervert of a brother, his nonno Rome, heck even Gilbert loved him as well. And of course there was himself, _no one_ loved Feliciano more than he, Ludwig Beilschmidt did. But those feelings, those wondrous harmonious feelings of love and admiration for his lovely Italienisch were quickly dissolving into numbed out-

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. On this day, May 7, 1945, Germany- no, Ludwig Beilschmidt had lost everything he had ever held dear to him. Today, was the end for the great German empire. This was it, he could not keep his promise, though he didn't remember much, the overbearing feeling of becoming a great nation to forevermore give Italy the world, was gone.

Germany's bright cerulean eyes dulled further, he was tired and sleep sounded really pleasant right now. His eyes silently fluttered closed, the pain he felt was nothing more than a dull ache. And to his growing surprise it seemed as though the roaring emotions he had been forced to endure had finally numbed out. He could no longer keep his eyes open, it was too much work.

A hazy image of a sobbing girl came to his mind. The girl was murmuring, shaking her head in obvious sadness. She was beautiful. There was something eerily familiar of the little girl in the pink dress, something important. He was missing an important detail, but he couldn't really think straight at the moment. Then a soft trembling voice snapped Ludwig out of his muddled thoughts. Her words were laced with obvious pain.

_"Please, don't go."_

Ah, he must be hallucinating from exhaustion. Funny how his mind decides to imagine some little girl, who gave off an air of familiarity, to comfort him at the moment. Ludwig gave a bitter smile that looked more like a grimace as he found his body crumpling further down onto the ground, not even aware of the fact that he was now laying on a puddle of his late boss' blood. Ludwig could barely make out a choked plea, the voice was so pleasant so familiar, before he fell into the loving embrace of darkness.

"_Ti amo!_ Ludwig no matter what, I will always love you. I'll fi_-Dio! Luddy no!_"

But then again, perhaps he had only imagined it.

* * *

_A/N- Welp, end of prologue, here are the definitions of words (I hope they're right I used Google translate So I'm not sure...)_

_Nein-No_

_verräter- traitor_

_verdammt arschloch- damn asshole_

_Italienisch-Italy_

_Italien- Italian_

___Dio, che cosa ho fatto- God what have I done_

___ti prego perdonami- Please forgive me_

___Ti amo- I love you_

_____Liegt- Lies_

_____Mein Gott- My God_

_____Nonno- Grandpa_

**_____NEXT CHAPTER:_**_____ (Will be posted 1 week from today) Angry/Brotherly Lovi, Clingy Antonio, Spamano, Depressed Feli, a fight, and a spazzy Gilbert_


	2. Chapter 2: Entschuldigung

_**A/N-**__ Alrighty, Thank you ALL for your support, seriously guys I didn't think I would get this much well support. Thanks again! Anyway here is chapter 2, 1 week later, like I promised. I don't really like this chapter, even though this was the first one I wrote OTL I'm more into the chapters after this one, but well I hope this isn't total crap. Sorry for typos/misspells, ect. This story will take a while before it begins to pick up..._

_**Disclaimer: **__I do __**NOT **__own Hetalia, and never will._

_**Warnings: **__language, Spamano, Lovino, depressed Feli, spazzy Gil, shitty foreshadowing, confusing setting, kinda rushed, typos._

* * *

**Chapter 2: ****Entschuldigung**

* * *

Leaning his head against the wet wall of his bathtub, Romano heaved out a bitter sigh of overbearing stress. The steamy water poured soothingly against his aching back which caused the nation to close his tired eyes in content. He let out a soft hum of approval, as the steam continued to embrace the room with a relaxing warmth.

_Dio_, he really needed to think.

Unlike the pussy, and totally fucking unmanly nation, Spain, Romano much more enjoyed relieving his stress by taking a fucking manly shower.

_Shut the hell up! _

Showers were so_ totally_ manly, unlike the _girly _baths Anto-Spain took.

Fucking _sissy_, really!

The stupid tomato bastard even had a dumb yellow rubber duck which he had affectionately dubbed as _"Señor Patito"_.

What a fucking _pussy_!

The damn bastard even payed more attention, not that he cared, to the damn duck than his own lov-man-him!

_Chigi!_

Romano punched the wall, wincing slightly upon impact.

_Shit! _

That fucking_ hurt_!

"Stupid fucking bathroom bastard of a wall..." he mumbled silently to himself, his voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. He closed his eyes, now was not the time to curse the stupid spawn of hell or his bastard lov-Anto-Spain! Shit, he had to fucking focus! So much was at stake right now. His lips twitched, and he shook his head.

_Focus. _

He had to help his fratello, Feliciano.

Right, Feliciano was in trouble.

Shit, when _wasn't _the idiota in trouble?

Romano shook his head, focus dammit! His stupid fratello was worse than just being in trouble, his lovely little baby brother was depressed.

_Fuck you! _This was _too_ a serious matter!

Feliciano wasn't using his disgusting crocodile tears, his fratello was actually hurting.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Feli had been like this ever since WWII ended...

_**Shit! **_

Why the hell hadn't he noticed this earlier, like fucking seriously! How stupider could he get, Dio? He was being even more ignorant than Felicia-

Shit right, Feli was depressed!

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Romano grit his teeth in frustration before his lips curled up into a hideous sneer.

"_Potato bastard..._"

_Of course! _

Feliciano's happiness, much to his own dismay, revolved around that damn German personification. Why hadn't he connected the pieces sooner Shit, that fucking shithead of a potato bastard had made Feliciano cry! That bastard was so going to fucking pay. He would personally march over to Berlin armed with his favorite pistol and shoot the guy's brains out and chop up all the yucky potato pieces of his yucky potato body and throw him in a fucking ditch. With crocodiles! Oh, and piranhas! Then he'd fucking dance over his shitty remains, above the water and-

Romano hissed in pain, shit the water was too hot now. Trembling hands hesitantly turned the knobs of the water down to a slightly cooler temperature. Now he needed to remember to fix the damn water thingy bath-thing. And by fix, he meant make Ant-Spain fix it.

Well shit.

Any-fucking-way, Feliciano was currently miserable because of something the potato bastard had done to him. Romano smiled proudly to himself, he should get a fucking_ metal_ for solving his brother's mysterious illness. But pushing that thought aside, ever since the end of that stupid war, Italy hadn't been the same. Feliciano had locked himself in his room and rarely, if ever, came out it, as he had observed by the past two months he had been here. His brother had also refused to attend world meetings and solve issues that concerned his country. Which of course, that being said, left Romano in charge of taking care of Italy's affairs as well as attending the stupid meetings.

It's been almost 100 years since Feliciano came back home, _broken._ Actually, now that Romano was thinking about it, his fratello also refused to speak to Kiku, the Japanese personification, which was_ also_ strange. Ever since Feli had befriended the strange Japanese man, and the _stupid_ potato bastard, he would hardly, if ever, come home or quit talking about the damn potato shithead or Kiku. In fact this has been the absolute longest stay his baby brother had in well, forever.

What the hell did the stupid potato fucker do _this time_?

If memory served him correctly, then Romano was positive Feliciano had avoided the German after WWI as well. Was it 90 years though? He shook his head, _hell no_ it was less than a few fucking days! But then, why hadn't his stupiodo fratello already return to the potato bastard, not that he wasn't glad about that, its just that Romano, if he was being completely honest, _hated_ seeing his fratello so sad. The Damn German threw the fucking _Hol-_

Nope, promised Ant-Spain, not to _talk_ or _even_ think about it.

_Shut the hell up! _

He did do little things for Spain and followed his _boss' _orders every _now_ and _then_.

**Fuck you.**

Fucking shitballs he was distracting himself _again_!

Romano clicked his tongue in annoyance. Right back to the potato bastard...

_Ooooh_ that shitheaded macho man was in for a world of _pain_!

But he couldn't exactly kill the bastard. His fratello l-lo-_ mio Dio_, his super faggot of a brother _loved_ the damn potato bastard. And Feli would_ die_ without the damn German being alive, he almost did once.

Shit!

Damn_ troublesome _potato bastard _and _fratello.

Romano frowned, it looked like the only way to fix this mess was to get, shitballs he couldn't believe he was say-thinking this but, Feliciano and the potato bastard to talk out their problems. Dio! He felt as though he would grow ill. Just the very thought brought a pair of horribly warm arms wrapping around his body?

_What._

_The._

_**Crapola.**_

Like lightning, Romano's head snapped as he quickly turned his head to stare into the loving gaze of his lov-Anton-Spain! "Chigi!" He heard Antonio chuckle softly and felt himself pressed against a very naked and very wet Spaniard personification. Shit! "Wh-What the hell do you think y-you're doing bastardo!?" His voice did so not crack. Nope, it didn't.

Fuck you, it cracked in a manly way!

Antonio grinned dumbly, like he always did, emerald orbs sparking in amusement. "I wanted to be with you, mi amor." Lips brushed against Romano's ear. "I woke up this morning and you weren't in our bed, so I thought I would join you in your manly shower, ahahaha~"

Romano rolled his eyes, typical clingy bastard.

Still.

It was _kinda _cute...

_Chigi!_

"What-the-fucking-ever bastardo, just let me go already." He saw Spain's lips mold into a childish pout, Dio that was so freaking se-so not even fucking going there.

"Pero Lovi! I want to hold you and whisper sweet things to you~" the Spaniard whined not unlike a child who was having his favorite toy taken away from him. Fucking tomato bastard.

"Bastardo, don't say shit like that! It's fucking embarrassing..." the last phrase was mumbled out but he knew Antonio had heard him, the bastard was weird like that. He heard his l-lover hum softly, probably thinking about something stupid and completely gay to say back. Fucking faggot of a bastard. It wasn't meant as offensive, well it was, but not in that way! Shut the hell up!

"Ah, mi Lovi es tan adorable cuando está avergonzado~" He felt himself being turned around, his chest now pressed against Antonio's. Romano's face flushed and he bit back the angry string of curses that were threatening to escape. He refused to look Atonio in the eyes so he found his eyes roaming over his lover's perfectly sculpted body. His face flushed darker when he spotted all the bruises, scratches and bite marks that adorned the Spaniard's body. Yup all those markings were caused by him...last night...them and-

Romano had to stifle a surprised yelp when Antonio decided to attack his neck in soft loving nips and licks.

"A-Ah, B-bastard what th-ahugh-e, hell do you think you're-, mm, doing...?"

"Making mi Lovi happy~ You love it when I pleasure your neck, no?"

Silence.

"Exacto." Smile. The Spaniard leaned closer to Romano's throat, tongue playfully licking down the Italian's body stopping at the boy's midsection. Shit that was fast! "Además, me encanta cuando te hago sentir las estrellas~"

Romano gulped, face red, no wonder he hadn't noticed his fratello's illness or has had made much of an effort to even help.

_Fucking Antonio _and his_ damn Spanish charm_.

* * *

Feliciano Vargas was not happy.

Not _one _bit.

In fact he really wanted to disappear from the face of the planet right now. He closed his tired eyes, he hadn't been able to have a proper nights' sleep in decades and each passing day made the guilt and pain grow even stronger. He was tired, and these negatively fueled emotions were tearing him apart.

_That day_ was still imprinted,_ fresh_, in his mind.

Italy threw the paintbrush and his half painted canvas to the ground, his face grimacing into one of unbearable disgust. "Mi dispiace! I'm so fucking sorry! Dannazione the day that I agreed to this mess!" The paints he had on the stool scattered onto the already messy floor. Broken, half finished canvas littered the room in an arrange of provoked frustration. All the paintings bore an uncanny similarity.

_Blond hair and haunting cerulean eyes._

The Italian clawed hazardously at his hair, whining in utmost despair. "Maledizione! Stupido! Stupido! Stupido! Luddy perdonami, te prego perdonami!" He threw himself i,onto his equally messy bed, whimpering softly as tears continued to freely fall from his eyes. He had screwed up so badly. Why did he have to do stupid things like this? If only he hadn't been so goddamn selfish!

It _hurt_.

_It hurt so fucking much!_

But Italy knew his pain was nothing compared to what his German lover had been forced to endure.

Absolutely _nothing_ could compare to what Ludwig had been _forced _to endure.

_Nothing._

Damn the stupid American and the Sove-Russia...

England too...

But what the hell had he, Ludwig's so called lover, done to aid Germany?

That's right, _Italy didn't do shit! _

He had _allowed_ Germany to suffer during the Cold War, _allowed _Prussia to become separated from Ludwig and _had yet_, to this day, been able to grow the balls to _speak_, let alone face, to the German nation.

Feliciano Vargas was _absolutely pathetic_.

_Coward._

Italy turned around, facing the wall, arms huddled close to his chest, as he heard the door creak open. He did not speak or even bother to turn around, he already knew who it was.

"_Get the fuck up_ you fottuto idiota!"

Silence.

"_Che Palle!_ Italy Veneziano, no-_Feliciano Vargas_, get the _fuck up_ this fucking instance or else I'll fucking chop your balls off and feed them to fucking stray cats and shit like that!"

There was a slight groan, and murmured words.

"What was that, _idiota_? Speak louder, I didn't fucking _hear you_."

Italy sighed, begrudgingly sitting up on his bed, eyes glaring lightly at his older brother. "I said quit bothering me, and _get out _of my room. I don't feel like listening to your damn _bitching_. Go bother big brother Tonio, but _don't _come to me bringing me _your_ crap."

The stupid Italian probably shouldn't have said that. But he didn't realize that. Nope, he didn't. Not one bit. At least not until there was a livid Lovino pouncing onto his weak sensitive bones. Then he noticed.

Yup, noticing things _hurt_.

Italy howled in pain.

Romano snarled, absolutely livid. "Don't give me _your _fucking shit Feliciano!"

_Punch. _

_Yelp. _

_**Tug.**_

Contrary to popular belief, Feliciano Vargas was not one to back down from a fight when he was angry. Rage is such a foreign emotion to him, a strange bitter emotion that he didn't like. Italy wasn't one to fight. He hated fighting. Hell, Feliciano was a goddamn _pacifist!_ The_ fighting_, the _anger_, the _negativity_, those were all part of _Lovino's_ personification, _not_ his. But when your brother tackles you and starts beating the living shit out of you when you already feel like shit, well it should be unmistakably _obvious_ where that would lead to.

And Lovino knew it too.

"And you don't give me_ yours _Lovino!"

_Yank. _

_Twist. _

_**Pull.**_

"Listen to me you maledetto figlio di puttana! Get _out _of your fucking room and _go talk _to your stupid potato head of a lover already!" Pause. Romano smirked cruelly, forest dipped coffee eyes shimmered with ill humored malice as his dark lashes lowered in a mocking fashion. "Or are you going to let him leave your life, like you did with _Holy Rome_?"

Oh yes, Lovino was indeed aware of Feliciano's strange ability to fight back, rather well, when the boy was consumed and overweighed with negative emotions.

Sì, he knew all _too _well.

And whenever _that_ Feliciano came out to play, he would _never_ admit this aloud but, _fear_ would embrace his persona.

_It scared Lovino. _

_No,_ it downright _terrified_ Lovino.

And being afraid causes people to do stupid things.

_Really_ stupid things.

So, when Romano realized what he had said, he _instantly _regretted it.

Italy froze, his arms loosening their grip on his brother's brown tresses. His bottom lip quivered momentarily before his face contorted into one of hideous rage. Violently, Feliciano punched his brother in the jaw. There was a loud resounding smack that echoed throughout the room. Silence engulfed the two soon after.

"_Don't you dare go there fratello!_ _You _don't _understand anything_! This is nothing like with H-Holy Rome, I can't, _I can't, I can't go to him_! I-I did a horr-"

Feliciano was instantly silenced by knuckles connecting violently with his right cheek. He let out a small whimper as his hand quickly came to asses the damage. Lovino was panting, body trembling and eyes dangerously close to watering. "_So fucking what?_ Is that really the _extent _of your fucking so called_ 'love' _for him?"

There was no response. Feliciano continued to stare at his brother in surprise, hand still caressing his injured cheek. Italy's lips quivered, he wanted to respond. Truly he did. But no words came out. It was as if he was suddenly made mute. Why was it _so fucking hard _to speak?

"Idiota. _Listen_ Feliciano, and _listen_ good, because_ I won't fucking repeat myself_. I know I don't know exactly what you did to Ger-the potato bastard, and_ I don't fucking care_ what you did to him."

Feliciano felt himself begin to tremble. What he had done was _unforgivable_. He had betrayed his lover in the worst possible way. He had,_ h-he ha-_

"Stop that, and fucking listen!"

The trembling immediately stopped and Feliciano blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

"You love that shithead, you fucking _**LOVE**_ that fucking bastard! I'll _never_ understand why but I know that you do. Now if _I _were in your fucking position I would have went and fucking talked things through with Spa-Antonio, because _I love him so freaking much that I wouldn't let some stupid mistake fuck up everything we have_! And now _look at you_, here you are _crying_ your fucking days away, not even bothering to fix the shit that happened. Don't you _care_ about him at all?"

The room once again became silent. Not even the uneven ragged breaths from either brother was able to break the silence that embraced the room. Suddenly, to Feliciano's surprise, Lovino smiled. His _serious, rude, angry_, fratello _genuinely _smiled. Eyes glimmering with nostalgia, features painted in pure bliss,Lovino Vargas _smiled_.

_Dio_, his brother was so _beautiful_ when he smiled like that.

"Do you remember when Pota-Ger-Ludwig proposed to you on Valentine's Day?"

Feliciano couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped his parted lips. Lovino was thinking about _that_?

_Dio,_ this was so strange.

It was weird.

How was this-

Lovino interrupted Feliciano's thoughts, his voice deadly calm and mellow. "You were so _scared. _You didn't understand what was going on, and you felt as though you would betray Holy Rome, should you decide to be with the potato b-Germany. It was funny, actually. But in the end, after rejecting him, rather harshly I might add-" Feliciano flinched at the last part.

"You realized, you couldn't live happily without him being more in your life than just a friend."

Romano looked away, his fists clenched and his bottom lip trembling slightly. He took in a shaky intake of air, voice suddenly hoarse.

"Can_ you_ really live your life _without him now_? Can _he_ really live his life _without you_?"

Feliciano's lips parted, eyes widening in sudden realization, and just as quickly as they widened did he bolt out of the room. The copper haired Italiano murmured a soft thank you, running past big brother Tonio, and out of the house, his long overdue quest_ finally _beginning.

Romano was left alone in the room, his breathing strained. The moment he felt familiar sun kissed arms wrapping themselves lovingly around his trembling hunched over frame did he finally let out a broken sob.

_He cried. _

Lovino cried for his_ idiota fratello_, for the _stupid potato bastard_, for _Antonio_, for _Holy Rome_, and for the nauseating feeling that things would only get _much more difficult_.

Spain did his best to soothe his lover, it wasn't odd to find Lovino crying, what with the man being an emotional wreck daily, but he too felt a strange sinking sensation in his gut. Something told the Spaniard that things would end up being forced to change _dramatically._ But Antonio refused to ponder further into those thoughts, instead Spain strengthened his embrace on Lovino and murmured comforting words in a mixture of Spanish and broken Italian to his sobbing partner.

What neither of them understood was that things were_ indeed_ going to change, and not necessarily for the better. Drastic, catastrophic events would take place, the world would soon convert itself into the stage of this new act.

And _they_ would inevitably be forced to be the unwilling puppets of the upcoming play.

* * *

Feliciano ran.

He ran fast.

He had to run.

He had to get to his destination.

It didn't matter that Italy still had to pass Switzerland's border to reach his destination. He didn't mind how his lungs burned wildly with each agonizing step or that his legs grew heavier with each passing second. _No_, he _had_ to keep running.

He _had _to get to Germany.

Lovino was right, he had waited far too long. He had avoided the problem completely and now because of that 90 years had passed. Germany had to know that he didn't mean for things to end like they had. _No, he was also tricked! _

The obnoxious American had _lied _to him, Big Brother Francis had _also_ lied. And that _backstabbing _Brit had deceived him as well! Ludwig had to know the whole truth.

His lover deserved to know why he had done what he did. Germany had to know that it wasn't as it seemed. Not everything was-

_Shit! _

_Aye Dio_, his chest it hurt. Air was scarce, he could barely breathe. Why did he quit training? Now he was all out of shape! Italy knew that wasn't true though. He didn't do physical exercise for many reasons. Really great reasons, such as being lazy, not wanting to, secretly admiring Germany, petting a kitten, making pasta, and well his shitty lungs did a number to increase not wanting to exercise.

But why would it hit now of all times!

Italy tried to so hard to take in more air but it seemed as though it was all futile. But he couldn't stop. Not no-

_Slam._

Feliciano couldn't even let out a cry as gravity cruelly took over, slamming his heaving body onto the ground in one grand thud._ Ouch_. His face had taken some of the damaging impact, blood dripped down his forehead like a stream of water. Italy groaned, air finally filling his lungs. His legs hurt, and were probably bruised up. His right ankle had twisted awkwardly because of the stupid fall making the Italiano boy frown in dismay. "Merda."

Slowly, Italy made it onto his feet, blood now coating his dirty blue jacket. His pants were ripped from the knees, gaping holes revealing bloodied kneecaps. It hurt,_ so much_, to stand on his right ankle. By the awful feel of it he probably sprained it. The Italiano sighed in bitter resentment but shook his head, copper brown tresses tangled in dirt and leaves.

_Nope._

He had to keep going.

With a determined gleam in his watery caramel dipped coffee brown orbs, Feliciano continued on in a slight awkward limping sort of run. Each step continued to burn, mussels tired, body sore, but he continued, praying to_ Dio_ to not let him run into Switzerland. Italy was positive he could not outrun the crazy trigger happy man in his current situation, but for Luddy Feliciano would try.

Familiar sea green orbs stared at the limping Italian, a smile gracing her young features. Understanding that time was of value and that things were _finally _progressing, she held her big bruder's hand and led him away from the house. This action allowed the whimpering Italian nation to pass by Vash's home undetected, successfully making his way into Germany without further unnecessary distractions.

It took a bit longer than he originally anticipated but Italy finally made it to Berlin. Standing timidly on Ludwig's porch, Italy gave out a shaky sigh, lips quirking into an unsure smile.

Feliciano Vargas looked like a complete disaster.

Copper locks tangled, dried blood coating his young face, outfit ripped and torn soiled in dirt all adorned by an odd walk. A complete mess that he was, but Italy no longer cared. Taking a large breath of air, Italy banged his trembling fists onto the door, the loud thuds resounded painfully in his ears.

_He was so close. _

Lips parted, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and bruised, Feliciano continued to bang his fisted hands against the door until it finally creaked open. He smiled in barely contained victory, falling to his knees in exhaustion. This action had made him miss magenta dipped crimson eyes widen in surprise and glisten in barely containable guilt induced worry.

Feliciano looked up, trying very hard not to look too disappointed. "A-ahhh, Gi-Gilber i-it's a-ahh great to s-ee you, a-ah can I co-" He was roughly cut off by the albino's scratchy voice.

"Ah! Ita-Feliciano what an _awesome_ surprise! How have you been? It's been _so long _and-" Prussia continued to ramble on, hoping to distract the tired ditzy Italian nation.

Feliciano was completely oblivious to the guilt that laced the Prussian's words, he was far too concerned with a single thought.

He needed to see Ludwig.

_Now._

"Gilbert not to be A-aahh rude but can I se-" Once again Italy was cut off by the albino, but he decided to take this as an opportunity to stand up, albeit a bit too slowly. He tried not to add too much pressure onto his right foot.

"Awww but Ita-chan it's been _sooooo_ long and that is totally _unawesome_ because you haven't been in contact with the _awesome _me and we should really have an _awesome _chat because that's totally the _awesome_ thing to do and-" And so the tables turn, making it so Italy cuts off the rambling Prussian.

"Gil, _I promise_ we can chat _later_ but right now I _really_ need to talk to Ludwig so if you'll just-"

A hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing in an almost painful manner. Italy frowned what was going on? Confused caramel drizzled coffee orbs met with nervous crimson orbs. What was the albino hiding?

"Ah, I know this is going to sound totally _unawesome _but ermm you can't come in, yeah."

Italy frowned. "Why not?"

Prussia's eyes momentarily flickered between the inside of the house and the disheveled Italian. "Umm because it's like dirty and that's _unawesome...?_"

Eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "That's okay, I don-"

A loud familiar voice resounded throughout the hallway of the German house. It made Italy's heart skip a beat. "Bruder, did you see who it was?"

"Scheiße!"

With Prussia spewing out a string of German curses, eyes wide and hands pulling at his white locks in something akin to despair, Italy took the opportunity to run inside, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Germany.

Germany.

_Germany._

His lover was here.

_H__e was here._

He was going to talk to him.

_Oh, Germany!_

"Ger-Ludwig!"

Dull blue eyes met with caramel drizzled coffee orbs, lips parted face flushed eyes widening. Feliciano threw himself into the German man, causing both men to tumble down onto the floor a small grunt was heard from the German nation upon impact with the ground. Italy was _so_ happy. He was dizzy with ecstasy. It was as if he was going to drown in joy.

_Germany was here. _

_His love was here. _

He could discuss things later right now he needed to touch, he needed to feel, he needed to hear Ludwig.

_His love._

Arms latched onto a pale neck as lips met with the German's flushed cheeks. Italy grinned his emotions dancing in a parade of barely containable joy. _Oh Dio_, this was bliss. This was what he had been missing.

This was Germany.

_His Ludwig. _

"Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo. _Ludwig ti amo!_"

Perhaps if he had paid better attention to the spazzing Gilbert by the doorway or to the tense and frozen in shock German beneath him then he wouldn't have been so surprised of the actions that unfolded after his long overdue display of affection.

But then _again,_ perhaps not.

Italy was roughly shoved off, a flustered blond-blue eyed German spewed out a few incomprehensible phrases in his native tongue. Feliciano frowned as he outstretched his arm to gently touch the blond nation's shoulder. Body tense and rigid, the German nation looked up, eyes meeting with Feliciano's in a hypnotic dance. "L-Luddy what's wrong?" It was whispered, worry laced every word dripping into a sweet delicious dose of wine.

This was too much.

This was insane.

_What was going on?_

Finally, after what seemed like_ centuries_, the German man shook his head, nervously running his hand through his golden tresses. Lips parted and closed a few times before Ludwig was finally able to phrase back a proper response, making Feliciano's eyes widen in barely containable hysteria, and effectively shutting up the rambling albino.

"Entschuldigung, but _who_ are you?"

* * *

_**A/N-**__ Welp there is chapter 2, what did you guys think? _

_/Crawls into hole_

_Yup, okay it was pretty bad OTL_

_**Dio: **__God_

_**Señor Patito: **__Sir ducky_

_**Fratello: **__Brother_

_**mi Lovi es tan adorable cuando está avergonzado: **__My Lovi is so cute when he's embarrassed._

_**Exacto:**__ Exactly_

_**Además, me encanta cuando te hago sentir las estrellas: **__Plus, I love it when I make you feel the stars~_

_**Mi dispiace: **__I'm sorry_

_**Dannazione: **__damn_

_**Maledizione: **__damn_

_**Stupido: **__stupid_

_**perdonami, te prego perdonami: **__forgive me, please forgive me_

_**fottuto idiota:**__ fucking idiot_

_**Merda: **shit_

_**Italiano: **__Italian_

_**bruder: **__brother_

_**Scheiße: **__shit_

_**Ti amo: **__I love you_

_**Entschuldigung:** I'm sorry_

_Anyway again Google translate~_

_**NEXT CHAPTER: **__(Will be posted 1-2 weeks from now) Angry/Spazzy Gil, livid Lovi, Yandere Antonio, sobbing Feli, confused Ludwig, some angsty Arthur and pissed Alfred, and mild fluff!~_


End file.
